Capital Vices
by Artemis's Liege
Summary: In a world that's not so perfectly perfect and not everyone is the paragon of honor, seven teenagers each struggle against a Deadly Sin unique to their personality. Will they be able to overcome their challenges, or be consumed by their own flaws?
1. Gluttony

**Disclaimer:** _Trixie Belden_ belongs to Random House, Merriam-Webster is owned by Merriam-Webster, and any other copyrighted products or franchises belong to their respective owners. I own none of the franchises or products mentioned within this story.

**A/N:** this is a "Darker and Edgier" AU in which the characters have major flaws. The_ Trixie Belden_ books were all good and well, with the romanticized notions about life and people in general, which maintained the idealized innocence of that era. But now, the Bob-Whites have some profound issues to deal with, revolving around their personal choices and inner battles.

The Deadly Sin won't be the only problem to afflict each character, but the Sin will play a direct role in forming the character's issues.

**WARNING: though this story does not contain explicit content in any way, there will be OOC-ness, startling and unhealthy ideology, irrational hatred of classmates, and teen angst. Also included are mentions of eating disorders, drug use, violence, sexuality, underage drinking, and the _Jersey Shore_.**

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), startling and unhealthy ideology, mentions of the _Jersey Shore, _and discussion of eating disorders.

Now that the formalities are out of the way, let's move onto the legitimate story.

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**Gluttony**

Function: noun

**1:** excess in eating or drinking

**2:** greedy or excessive indulgence

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Reverse**

Function: transitive verb

**1**

**a :** to turn completely about in position or direction

**b** **:** to turn upside down **:** invert

**c** **:** to cause to take an opposite point of view _reversed_ herself on the issue

**2:** negate, undo

**a** **:** to overthrow, set aside, or make void (a legal decision) by a contrary decision

**b** **:** to change to the contrary _reverse_ a policy

**c** **:** to undo or negate the effect of (as a condition or surgical operation) had his surgery _reversed_

**3:** to cause to go in the opposite direction; _especially _**:** to cause (as an engine) to perform its action in the opposite direction

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

Despite his burning muscles that groaned in protest to his every movement, Mart Belden felt more confident than he had in weeks as he unlocked the door to his dorm room and tossed the key onto the hard surface of his desk. Immediately upon closing the door, he strode to the full-length mirror situated front and center on the direct wall, pulling off his loose cotton T-Shirt as he did. Tossing the garment aside, he gazed into the mirror, scrutinizing his physique.

He looked good; there was no doubt about that. The defined muscles of his abdomen stood out clearly on his torso. Satisfied, Mart poked two of his fingers against his washboard abs, feeling not the cushioning of fat, but the hard push of muscle back against his appendages.

With a complacent smile, Mart continued to examine his reflection in the glass. Abs greats, biceps good, triceps okay, but his pecs still looked like they needed a considerable amount of work if he wanted his entire upper body to appear flawless. Really, he couldn't have his abs perfectly ridged while his pecs were this pathetic.

Tomorrow, Mart resolved, he would devote his every spare moment outside of the classroom to getting his pecs in the right shape.

The bell resounded through the halls, announcing that students now had to be in their dorm rooms for the night, and sure enough, Mart's roommate, Daniel, was not present. Though he completely disregarded the various rules pertaining to curfew and other regulations and partied like someone off the _Jersey Shore_, Daniel didn't seem like he particularly belonged at a place like the Worthington Institute for Wayward Youth, at least to Mart.

Daniel was humorous without being crass, and he was always polite and cordial in speech and mannerism. Mart couldn't think of what his roommate might have done to wind up at the correctional school, except for maybe dressing in a vaguely goth style, with nearly all of his clothing black. And other than Lawrence Howard, where there was a mutual feeling of hatred, Daniel also seemed to get along with all of the teachers at the Institute.

The Worthington Institute was a relatively new school. Some bigwig whose horse got lucky at the racetrack, and who then felt the need to "give back to society", had founded the Worthington Institute for Wayward Youth. Personally, Mart wished the man had just blown his money in Vegas with the rest of the gamblers; though the Worthington Institute was far from the worst thing that could have happened to him, it remained far from an enjoyable experience.

The boarding school wasn't for legitimate juvenile delinquents like gang members or drug abusers, merely for teenagers who were perceived to be "troubled" by their psychologist or parents, or maybe had been arrested for a misdemeanor.

Basically, it was more of an isolated boarding school where teenagers were expected to clean up their act rather than a legitimate reformatory school or correctional facility. Parents who no longer wanted to be parents sent their children to the Worthington Institute when they felt like they couldn't stand their teenager's "bad attitude" a moment longer.

Mart's stomach rumbled; he had missed dinner in order to dedicate a full four hours to exercising at the gym. Unperturbed, he simply reached for the large water bottle that sat on his desk and drank deeply. He had discovered back when he was living in Sleepyside with his family that if he loaded his stomach with liquids, he no longer craved very much food.

Unsettled by the sudden bombardment of memories that accompanied his self-congratulatory thought, Mart set down his water bottle and tried to think of anything else, but he couldn't stop the recollections from flowing into his mind.

As a fifteen-year-old boy, Mart had always appreciated food, perhaps a little too much. Similar to as he stood now, he had been undressing in front of the mirror in the room he shared with his older brother Brian, when he had noticed that he had added a few pounds to his already stocky build.

The weight gain had bothered him for reasons he couldn't quite place. Though he had never focused very much on his appearance before, whenever he looked in the mirror, he had felt nothing but disgust for himself. Abruptly, his very reflection sparked no feeling beyond hatred for his appetite, which had brought him to this point. Out of the blue, it was as if his physical flaws had amplified and were now screaming his personal failures to the world.

He had just wanted to lose weight quickly and simply, so he could erase those feelings of frustration and hatred. In order to avoid suspicion from his family, Mart had continued eating, but after each meal, he proceeded to shove a few fingers down his throat and heaved the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

In hindsight, the action was unceremonious, but at the time it had seemed like the most difficult thing in the world. He had struggled with the decision to actually begin the whole process of intentionally regurgitating in the first place, because it had been wrong to him then, against the laws of nature.

Unlike most people who deliberately purged after meals, Mart had not been compelled to his impulses. He could've resisted the entire bulmia ordeal if he had wanted to, but he had only been concerned with his appearance, and thus had pushed forward with his admittedly unhealthy "weight loss program". He wasn't obsessed, he knew, only determined.

Actually, he had been slightly taken aback by the amount of time that had passed before any of his family members noticed that something was obviously amiss with him. Of course, his parents' free time had mostly been occupied by trying to reign in Brian, who had been infected with a particularly extreme case of senioritis and just wanted to party, and Trixie, who suddenly had decided that it was only the social aspect of high school that mattered, and academics could go to hell (which was what happened to her report card). Their parents, Helen and Peter, were at their wit's end with both of them.

Mart had no doubt that he would've been able to continue his purging method if he hadn't forgotten to lock the door, leading to Trixie, while searching for her acne-cleansing pore mask, stumbling across him retching his dinner into the toilet. Daddy's girl that she was, she ran to tell their father, if only to project his attention onto an issue other than her **F**'s in English and math class.

After scowling for a few seconds at the memory, an ironic smirk twisted onto Mart's lips. Unfortunately for Trixie, that had come back to haunt her: exasperated and driven to the breaking point, their parents had simply thrown up their hands and declared Mart, Brian, _and _Trixie failures and shipped them off to the boarding school. Their Uncle Andrew and Aunt Alicia, who were their father's siblings, had always preferred Bobby over any of them, and were only too happy to help out Helen and Peter with the tuition money if it meant sending the three eldest Belden children away.

Considering his two siblings, Mart was the one who had adjusted the best to the Worthington Institute. Brian spent most of his time brooding, while Trixie pouted and proclaimed that she deserved better than being locked away at a school. Mart was content with attending classes during the day and working out for hours in the afternoon. Honestly, he never thought that his brief bulmia kick had been wrong, ethically or mentally. After all, is was just losing weight, right?

But still, if he hadn't consumed so much food in the first place, Mart had the feeling that he never would have ended up where he was now.

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**A/N:** I'm not quite sure if Mart was the right character to start out with, but I'll try to strengthen the next few chapters.

Any thoughts?


	2. Envy

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), startling and unhealthy ideology,and irrational hatred of classmates.

* * *

**Envy**

Function: noun

**1:** painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage

**2 **(_obsolete)_ **:** malice

**3 :** an object of envious

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Apathy**

Function: noun

**1:** lack of feeling or emotion **:** impassiveness

**2:** lack of interest or concern **:** indifference

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

Sparing a glance at the assignment sheet for her English essay, Madeline G. Wheeler only looked at the topic for split second before crumpling up the rubric and tossing the paper ball into the wastebasket that rested in the corner of her dorm room.

"_My favorite family memory."_

That was a nearly impossible topic for her. What memories did she have of her family, beyond the holiday dinners that basically consisted of her parents discussing business while ignoring her, or total silence interrupted only by the scrape of the silver cutlery against the fine porcelain plates?

Her parents' absence was a larger part of her life than their presence. Family? That would indicate they actually thought of her as a daughter.

No, Madeline was a convenience to her parents, nothing more. For social affairs and visiting the grandparents, they would trundle her out and show her off, as if she were some sort of prize race horse, and everyone would tell Madeline that she was the very image of her mother and she would be just as radiantly beautiful as her someday soon.

Madeline didn't necessarily want to be like her mother, in manner of beauty or otherwise.

Because after those elaborate parties, Madeline would be sent straight back to boarding, mainly due to her parents being unable to spare the effort to raise her. Not once did they ever attempt to discuss with her the nature of her classes, nor did they ever express any sort of interest in her, not until they received notice of her steadily decreasing academic marks and her bouts of inexplicable illness.

And then their solution was to hire a governess to manage Madeline's educational career! A governess- practically an antediluvian concept!

As usual, her parents were foisting her off onto someone else when her behavior was deemed problematic. Madeline resented their actions with such intensity that bile rose in her throat just thinking about. Not once did her parents ever consider that as an only child, she may be lonely and desire to have her blood relations around her at some point, or for them to just speak to her on a profound rather than superficial level.

But no, instead they sent her away to summer camps and boarding schools to be rid of her. And when they felt that they had exhausted all other options, they sent her here, the Worthington Institute for Wayward Youth, in hope that her isolation from her normal peer group might provide some sort of motivation to improve her academic performance. Madeline doubted that she had fulfilled any of their expectations, but her grief and resentment rendered her too conflicted to care much.

Obviously, her mother and father didn't care why her grades had deteriorated, they just wanted Madeline off their hands and for someone else to resolve the situation.

A lump rose in Madeline's throat when she remembered all the parents' days at her camp and boarding school, when she stood alone, gazing around at her happy classmates with their proud parents, while she wished desperately that at least one of her parents had bothered to show.

Part of the reason of why she had so much difficulty forming friendships was because she felt so utterly jealous of her classmates for their relationships with their parents. True, because they were in the same boat as her, few of them were exceptionally close to their mother or father, but their parents still made the effort to spend time with them when they could manage. It was actually uncommon for a girl to be at camp for the entire summer- most of them went off to some beautiful European country or tropical island with their parents for a vacation.

But not Madeline. She was always off to one side, silent, as the other girls laughed and chattered excitedly about the beaches in Sicily or the clothing fashions of Spain. And though she knew it was her own flaw and not theirs, hatred boiled in her stomach, the green-eyed monster who was furious that most of them had less money and lower status than she, but they had one item that wealth or regard couldn't attain: loving parents who honestly cared for them and did their best to spend time with them.

Was it really so surprising that Madeline had absolutely no motivation to do well in school? Her parents would always allow her to live off of their fortune; they would actually have to pay attention to her to insist that she learn responsibility and take on a career of her own.

Besides, it wasn't as if she would actually gain anything if she achieved high marks. That would just provide her parents with bragging rights at their ever-so-important social events: "Did I mention that Madeline was top in her class this year? Oh, yes, yes, we're very proud. There she is, over there. Oh, that dress she's wearing is designer, custom-made just for her . . ."

Madeline had no desire to facilitate her parents' arrogance.

The bell shrilled throughout the dorms, announcing curfew for all students. Madeline's roommate was conspicuously absent, but this was hardly noteworthy. "Trixie" Belden was a thoughtless and self-centered girl who cared only for her own happiness.

Trixie's parents had sent her here because they had been worried about the people she was associating with and her general attitude. It was not infrequent for Trixie to rant about how she didn't belong "here, with all of these soon-to-be criminals! I have more class than this!", which Madeline didn't necessarily agree with, but it was easier to ignore Trixie and endure her tantrums than go through the arduous task of speaking to her.

The girl was so foolish. Couldn't she see how much her family cared for her? Madeline thought the other girl was abominably stupid and selfish.

Deciding to enjoy the last few minutes to herself before her loud and obnoxious roommate was forcibly escorted to her dorm by a teacher, Madeline stretched out her tall, willowy frame on her bed and began entertaining herself with dreams of her ideal family.

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**A/N:** Let me know what you think of this chapter. I'm always up for new ideas.


	3. Greed

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), startling and unhealthy ideology, and mentions of drug use, sexuality, and underage drinking.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. I'm glad that so many of you find the content interesting. I initially got the idea for this fic over a year ago, when I was re-reading a _Trixie Belden_ mystery and was musing about how the B.W.G.s just seemed so morally perfect even in spite of their humanizing flaws. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.

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**Greed**

Function: noun

**:** a selfish and excessive desire for more of something (such as money) than is needed

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Hedonism**

Function: noun

**1:** the doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the sole or chief good in life

**2:** a way of life based on or suggesting the principles of hedonism

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

The weather was clear and sunny, but the bright day did absolutely nothing to alleviate Brian Belden's black mood.

His spirits were never quite high these days, mainly due to his confinement to the Worthington Institute, but they had begun to rapidly deteriorate while enduring his American history class. Mr. Thompson had shown them a Civil War documentary that Brian had already observed last year, when he still attended Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. The educational film had brought back several uncomfortable memories of his life at Crabapple Farm. Looking back at it, everything had been so different then, he now found imagining his daily life at his him difficult. So much had changed . . .

The slight breeze ruffled his chemistry notes lightly, and Brian scowled as the recollections continued to surface in his brain; as the happy weather continued throughout the day, his attitude had deteriorated to the opposite end of the spectrum. How many beautiful days like this had he spent at Crabapple Farm, working in the orchards or the gardens, or playing baseball with his siblings, before everything in their respective worlds had shattered?

His own "downward spiral", as his parents had deemed it, had supposedly begun when he obtained his driver's license. He had been excited, of course, what teenager wasn't when they got their first taste of freedom? Hell, he had been waiting for it for months; in anticipation, he had bought a car from crotchety old Mr. Lytell and repaired the model till it looked almost new.

He was born free after that: he didn't have to answer to anyone, he could come and go as he pleased. Every one of the rules his parents had set for him were totally disregarded in favor of doing whatever he felt like at the moment. His parents were outraged by his conduct, but at the time, Brian hadn't given a damn.

Escape was the only thing he had cared about anymore. Escape from his dull existence as the eldest, responsible child. Escape from the mundane. He wanted life, he wanted excitement after spending his entire student career skipping opportunities for friends and fun in favor of slaving away over textbooks. Sick and tired of playing his designated role as the honest, reliable good sport, he had wanted to shake off his honorable reputation and use his sudden zest for thrills to replace it with that of the image of a risk-loving renegade.

Of course, Peter and Helen did their best to reign him in. Abusing every one of his privileges and partying with the wildest of his classmates had brought them to warn him again and again, but Brian totally flouted their opinions on his behavior. His liberation from the usual day-to-day tedium of his life was so exhilarating that he didn't care what either of them had to say about. Dealing with each of their lectures was worth the buzz that came from chugging down bottle after bottle or stabbing a needle into his arm. The consequences didn't matter to him, nothing was real. His life was now a deluge of drugs, sex, and liquor, and he loved it.

All that had once mattered to him -grades, upstanding reputation, morals, life goals- no longer affected him. He was utterly indifferent those previous aspects of his life, now. None of that could have restrained him from charging onward in his search for absolute pleasure; nothing could magically restore him to the person he once was.

The torrent of adrenaline that accompanied his altered mental state was enough of a rush to carry him away elsewhere, make him forget all that he once valued. All of his emotions were totally removed, leaving just hunger that needed to be sated. He was constantly looking for a high, a kick to spark some sort of stimulation, so he could enjoy life once again.

In hindsight, it was no surprise that his parents had shipped him off.

What had astonished him was that Trixie and Mart were also sent away to this semi-reformatory school with him, with the hope of somebody working a miracle on all three of them. They'd each had their own problems, not that Brian had paid attention to what they were.

If he had curbed his wild streak, suppressed all of his zest for danger, would he be there right now? Doubtful. Brian knew that he should have just sucked it up and remained the repressed bookworm that he used to be. Sometimes, playing a role was the best course of action a person could take, no matter how unhealthy and confining it felt. But he could've waited, he supposed, for college to become the party animal. That definitely would have been a smarter decision.

Frustrated with himself for dwelling on the past, Brian ran a hand through his wavy dark brown hair. Revisiting these old memories was useless, and besides, he had to met Dot Murray, his chemistry partner, in less that five minutes.

But as he gathered his belongings and walked away from the picnic table where he had been situated, Brian was forcibly assuaged with memories of sunny days like these at Crabapple Farm, when his life had been happy and he had been innocent.


	4. Sloth

**A/N:** I'm glad that people are enjoying this story. Be sure to teel me your thoughts!

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), startling and unhealthy ideology, and mentions of Hallie Belden.

* * *

**Sloth**

Function: noun

**1 :** disinclination to action or labor **:** indolence

**2:** spiritual apathy and inactivity

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Defiance**

Function: noun

**1****:** the act or an instance of defying **:** challenge

**2****:** disposition to resist **:** willingness to contend or fight

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

A golden leaf fluttered off the limb of the maple tree, carried to the ground by a light, mid-autumn breeze. The leaf came to a rest upon the green grass, a stark contrast of colors.

Trixie Belden cracked the bubble gum in her mouth loudly, and her attention was drawn away from the window by the sound of the teacher clearing her throat.

Exhaling slowly to create a large bubble, Trixie turned unflinchingly to Dr. Von Loon, totally unapologetic for distracting her from the paperwork. The woman glared at her in disapproval; out of boredom, Trixie gazed at her biology teach with an impertinent stare until the good doctor returned to grading homework assignments.

Sighing, Trixie propped her chin up with her fist. Detention was completely dull, which was undoubtedly why it was such a common punishment. Still, she was firmly of the opinion that she never should have received any punishment in the first place. Really, a half hour of detention for resting her head on the desk during an educational film?

What an idiotic reason for a detention. And totally harsh, as well. Absolutely ridiculous. This entire arrangement at the Worthington Institute was ridiculous. Brian was here for excessive partying, and whatever issues had afflicted Mart had been kept very quiet. The only thing Trixie knew was that he had regular sessions with one of the school psychologists; she still was in the dark about his presence at the Worthington Institute.

Not that she actually cared. Seriously, why would she want to be bothered with his problems? God, her clueless family was so annoying. Why did she have to deal with it?

Trixie herself was at the Worthington institute for several reasons: primarily, failing eighth grade English and math. Though, there was other "explanations" as well- her supposed bad attitude and her sudden transition from a good-natured tomboy to a moody teenager who could never dredge up the enthusiasm for any activity whatsoever.

As far as Trixie was concerned, her parents had decided that if there was something wrong with her two older brothers, there must be something wrong with her as well, and shipped her off with Mart and Brian in order to get a family package deal at the Worthington Institute so they could concentrate on raising Bobby, with the hope that he wouldn't turn out as screwed as they believed their three elder children to be. Not that there was much hope; in Trixie's opinion, Bobby was spoiled and bratty, incapable of ever amounting to anything.

Vaguely, Trixie wondered how her parents were managing Crabapple Farm without her and her brothers. Then she dismissed the thought from her mind. It wasn't her problem. They had chosen to send her away, so they had sealed their fate. Thus, she had no reason to worry. And besides, Aunt Alicia, who had always preferred the vivacious and saccharine-sweet Hallie over anyone else, was helping out her parents with the tuition, as was that jackass Andrew, her father's brother.

Trixie scowled at the thought of Aunt Alicia, her father's elder sister, and Hallie, her paternal cousin and a year Trixie's junior. Hallie was the model child until she was out of sight and earshot of the adults. That when Hallie thought herself safe to dress and act like a tramp, throwing herself at the nearest boy and tugging her halter top even further down her chest to expose the maximum amount of cleavage.

_Such a loser_, Trixie thought ungenerously.

Now that she was older, Trixie was less than fond of her family. Her mother had tried to groom her into the perfect housewife, her father wanted her to be the ideal daughter, simply living up to his perceptions and having no thoughts and feelings of her own. Her Uncle Andrew thought that she should have been the top student of her class and taking ballroom dancing lessons in order to learn how to be mature and polite, and Aunt Alicia had done her best to mold Trixie into the perfect young lady, as Hallie supposedly was.

Trixie did not want to play a role for anyone. She wanted to be herself, to go out with friends and have a good time, not put on airs to impress other people as her sycophantic cousin did.

Her thoughts turned away from her hippy-dippy cousin and back to the outrage of her sentence at the Worthington Institute. Seriously . . . it was a critical misjudgment on her parents' part to send her here. She needed tutoring or something, but it wasn't drastic enough to merit a special school for troubled youth to correct this problem.

Although, Trixie was willing to admit, she could have done more to learn the material for both classes. She could have gone to her teachers for help, or even tried to teach herself. She could have actually tried to study for her exams in either subject.

To be honest, she hadn't wanted to make the effort. She tried to rationalize her actions and neglect to prepare herself through studying as being too busy with her friends and wanting to blow off steam before the exam. But in reality, she had been afraid of making her best effort to study and still failing the exams. It would devastate her, to try as hard as she could and still not succeed. That would make_ her_ a failure.

And so, Trixie hadn't tried at all.

Frankly, she had been too apathetic to make the effort. And even here, at the Worthington Institute, she was unwilling to make the effort out of spite for her parents. Let them waste their money: she wasn't going to lift a finger.

And that, Trixie knew, was a problem in of itself.


	5. Lust

**A/N:** Add my name to the list of Kathryn Kennys who ruined Jim's character. Well, here's my attempt at flawed Jim.

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), mentions of sensuality, and an intergenerational relationship that is also a teacher-student relationship.

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**Lust**

Function: noun

**1**

**a** **:** pleasure, delight

**b** **:** personal inclination **:** wish

**2 :** usu. intense or unbridled sexual desire **:** lasciviousness

**3**

**a** **:** an intense longing **:** craving

**b** **:** enthusiasm, eagerness

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Philanderer**

Function: noun

_of a man_

**:** to have casual or illicit sex with a woman or with many women

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

"Watch it!" The blonde girl snarled, barely avoiding a collision with Jim Frayne.

Interest piqued, Jim watched the curvy blonde stalk away in the direction of the biology classrooms. Lessons were over for the day, so either she needed extra help in her science class, or she had a detention with her teacher.

If it was the latter, being maligned by teachers could be a topic of conversation if the two of them ever went on a date together- an irate Mr. Jones had just finished lecturing him against talking to girls during class.

But no, Jim decided as he watched the girl turn the corner and disappear. He didn't think that he'd be asking her out anytime soon. It wasn't because she had snapped at him- no, he appreciated a girl with some fire to her rather than some passive ingénue, and these naïve girls were no fun, too concerned about following the rules.

And it certainly wasn't because Jim thought that she was unattractive: despite the smattering of freckles across her pug nose, the unruly mop of sandy curls that looked as if they had never been combed, and her short stature, the girl was fairly cute and had a nice figure, even if she did have some excess meat on her bones. Jim had a great appreciation for the female form, and he wasn't going to get picky.

But Jim had never seen her around, not in his classes or at any parties, which most likely meant that she was younger than him, probably a freshman.

And frankly, Jim didn't care to have a romantic liaison with someone so much younger than him. One night stand or extended relationship, comparing fourteen to seventeen year old was a large enough difference in age, let alone maturity. No way did he want some young girl hanging off of his arm- he would feel uncomfortable, as though he were taking advantage of someone much younger and stupider than he was.

One might have thought that his immediate assessment of the blonde was odd, but Jim knew his type: he had been exclusively dating blondes for years. In fact, at his former high school in Albany, he had earned quite the reputation as a playboy.

However, this specific taste in women, along with his inability to maintain a monogamous relationship for very long, had landed Jim in no small amount of trouble, as bad habits often did.

Laura Ramsey had been an young English teacher, fresh out of college, when Jim had met her during his junior year. Jim had been taken with the gorgeous, sensual blonde woman, and she had been flattered by his attentions.

Before the school year was halfway through, the two had commenced an illicit romance that crossed the acceptable boundaries for teacher and student. For the first four months, they had managed to resist one another, but they had begun a clandestine relationship shortly after New Year's.

But as time wore on, the two of them had become careless about ascertaining their privacy while expressing their affections. Before June rolled around, they had been discovered in Laura's classroom, wrapped in one another's arms and kissing passionately. And it had been the principal of all people, who had walked in on them.

Jim's mother, Katjie Frayne, had always been disappointed by his womanizing, but was dismayed and appalled when the scandal was exposed. After the death of his father, Winthrop Frayne, she had continued strong and remained steadfast and reliable, determined that she would raise her only child to be a person of honor and firm conscience.

Though Jim loved her, his often felt as though his opinionated mother held him to impossible standards and that he would be unable to live up to her moral and academic expectations. And at times, in the very back of his mind, Jim wondered what his father would have to say about his behavior, but he always extinguished that thought before he could dwell on it for very long.

Katjie had read Jim the riot act after his affair with Laura came to light. Jim found himself at the Worthington Institute, after Matthew Wheeler, an old friend of his parents, recommended the place to Katjie as a boarding school for troubled teenagers.

Apparently, Wheeler's daughter attended the school. Madeline, that was her name. Jim had been introduced to her several times: she was a pretty wisp of a girl, but her appeal was undermined by her waif-like appearance, and she constantly looked as though she were suffering from an extended illness.

Thinking about it now, he thought that he had seen her around the school with that blonde girl. The two would make quite a pair, with the blonde's snappish demeanor and Madeline's quiet, timid disposition.

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket, and Jim's crooked grin surfaced for the first time that day as his emerald green eyes scanned the words on the small screen, all thoughts of the little blonde spitfire vanishing from his mind.

Dot Murray had sent him a text message. Smokin' hot girl with long, amazing legs, horrible, old-fashioned name ("Dorothy," of all things). But despite her ill-favored moniker, Dot was witty, mischievous, and fun.

At the moment, she was inviting him to ditch last period with her tomorrow and go into the nearby town.

No questions there. Dot was awfully nice to look at, and Jim had no doubt that she admired him, too.

Jim exited the school building out the back door, proceeding to the men's dorms. As the light autumn breeze brushed his face, the thought occurred to him that next year he would be in college.

What an overwhelming responsibility that would be. No, he didn't want to think about that, he needed to escape such serious matters.

The phone in his hand reminded Him that he had something in the near future to look forward to, and he deftly texted Dot back with a wholehearted "Yes".

* * *

**A/N:** The Jim/Trixie shippers will be out for my blood. I have him paired with Laura Ramsey and Dot Murray in the very same chapter! It's almost beyond the impossible.

Be sure to let me know how I'm doing with this story.


	6. Pride

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** OOC-ness (given), teen angst (given), and startling and unhealthy ideology.

* * *

**Pride**

Function: noun

**1:** the quality or state of being proud: as

**a** **:** inordinate self-esteem **:** conceit

**b** **:** a reasonable or justifiable self-respect

**c** **:** delight or elation arising from some act, possession, or relationship

**2:** proud or disdainful behavior or treatment **:** disdain

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Narcissism**

Function: noun

**:** excessive interest in oneself

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

Though Diana's stomach growled in protest to skipping breakfast to focus solely on her beauty regime, she continued to concentrate on achieving the glossy shine that came to her hair if she was very particular in her grooming. This would take a while, she knew, but it was worth it. Being beautiful was always worth it.

And trying to look even mildly attractive in that fashion travesty of a uniform was no easy feat, but it was time well spent, as far as Diana Lynch was concerned.

Diana was often told that she was a very pretty girl. And she was, obviously. Alabaster skin that glowed as if she were bathed in moonlight, a flawless complexion, a lovely face with just the right amount of cheekbone, unique and intriguing amethyst eyes, with a classically elegant nose. Her satiny curtain of black hair, so lustrous that the tresses appeared to gleam blue in the light, swept down just past her shoulders, emphasizing her slender shoulders and modest but graceful figure.

Honestly, it was beyond Diana that anyone could not be taken with her glamor at first sight. She had an aurora around her person, an air that drew people to her like flies to honey. And she could charm them, make them laugh, impress them with her wit and humor.

When she cared to do so, of course. Oftentimes, Diana simply didn't want to bother interacting with people. They were such a waste of her time, with their vapid demeanors and silly remarks. None of them meant what they said or said what they meant, and they couldn't if their lives depended on it.

And none of them, not a single one of them, fully appreciated her beauty for all that it was. Oh yes, they complimented her and told her that she would have the boys lining up, but none of them treated her significantly different from everyone else; it was almost as if they didn't believe that her stunning good looks didn't set her apart from everyone else. They still expected her to follow the same rules and laws as the rest of the faceless masses.

Her uncle, Montague Wilson, for example. Blonde, blue-eyed, and brother of Betty Lynch, Diana's mother- he was the one who had convinced her parents that she had serious issues, that Diana was conceited to the point of unapproachability. Though he had seemed pleasant at first meeting, Diana had found that her "Uncle Monty" was immune to her charms that were usually capable of softening even the toughest of authority figures. Initially, he had appeared so congenial that Diana had let down her guard around- an erroneous action that would haunt her for quite some time.

While visiting his ranch in Arizona, she had spoken to him several times. He had asked her about her life in White Plains, where her family had relocated after Ed Lynch had made his fortune. Inquired about her friends, her performance at school, her extracurricular activities.

Diana didn't care to socialize with her peers. People her age were frivolous and trivial. And her grades were only average. The subject matter was dull and irrelevant.

But if there was one pastime Diana did enjoy, it was acting. The dramatic arts had fascinated her since she was young, even if her debut on stage had consisted of a kindergarden skit in which she was dressed up as a flower (the performance was prematurely concluded when she and another girl named Trixie Belden had wound up tumbling off the platform).

So, she was honest and open with her uncle as she so infrequently was with anyone else. He had seemed so genuine and willing to listen to her, unlike her parents, who had no time for her at all, now that they were concerned with their newfound wealth and her classmates at her prep school, who were cliquish, snobby, and loath to accept a member of a nouveau riche family like her into their elite ranks.

She told him of her disdain for other people as a general entity. Told him that she despised human duplicity and couldn't stand the insincerity. Told him the reason she wanted to become an actress was so she could play a role on a stage or a set and always know what was coming, because there was an established script. Nothing would change; Diana herself would never have to roll with the punches and spontaneously adapt to new situations. She would only have to fake it.

She told him of the details in her mind, how she thought that humanity appreciated only aesthetics in each other and didn't value intelligence or morality; how utterly useless she thought her classmates and teachers to be, how she cared nothing for their presence and wished that she could be alone forever.

In the present, Diana saw her reflection's violet eyes go black with anger and her breathing hitched, painful memories rapidly flowing into her mind: her uncle, whom she had trusted as a confidante to her deepest thoughts, relayed all that she had told him to her parents. He claimed that he was only concerned for her, that he was trying to help her overcome her personal problems, but Diana knew better.

He was out to get her, just like everyone else. He saw how beautiful she was and he hated it, so her dear Uncle Monty was trying to ruin her life, trying to bring her down to level of the rest of the commoners.

And her parents . . . well, her parents . . .

Eager to show off their nouveau-riche money, they had questioned how to correct this error in their daughter's mind, who to throw money at to fix their problems for them. Therapists? Psychiatrists? Lobotomists?

But no, her uncle had directed their attention to this renowned youth facility, which apparently specialized in reprogramming teenagers to be the people that their parents wanted. Well, Diana was hardly going to be an assimilated drone. She was special, an individual, as anyone could see just by glancing at her face.

She had remained tight-lipped as her parents tearfully said goodbye to her, leaving her at the gates of this organized hell. Her parents had acted as if they had no choice but to send her here, and Diana didn't protest to the contrary. Diana Lynch bowed to no one.

The bell announcing the beginning of the school day echoed throughout the halls, but Diana simply proceeded with the careful application of her makeup. Monsieur Lontard, her French teacher for first period, would be furious when she arrived late to his class, but she didn't give a damn.

She had beauty; she didn't need brains, and it wasn't as if the world would ever appreciate the latter over the former, anyway.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm slightly disappointed by the lack of feedback. Is everyone bored with this story?

Has anyone noticed a pattern with the Worthington Institute teachers mentioned?


	7. Wrath

**Specific warnings for this chapter:** teen angst (given) and deviation from canon (also given).

* * *

**Wrath**

Function: noun

**1:** strong vengeful anger or indignation

**2:** retributory punishment for an offense or a crime **:** divine chastisement

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

**Overcome**

Function: transitive verb

**1:** to get the better of **:** surmount

**2:** overwhelm

*Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

* * *

Tempers flared often at the Worthington Institute- the students were angry with the circumstances of their situation and frustrated with the school's regimented classroom procedures. Legitimate physical altercations were infrequent, but the tension was unmistakably present, simmering just beneath the surface.

For his part, now that he was actually here, Dan "Mangan" tried to keep his temper in check.

Walking to the headmaster's office and partial to no specific emotion at the present, Dan turned the corner, colliding with another student- the loud, foul-mouthed, belligerent Bob Wellington.

"Watch it, prick!" Wellington snarled, grabbing Dan by the lapels of his black shirt.

Bristling, Dan felt the familiar anger wash over him, and his hands were halfway to Wellington's neck before he regained control over himself. He wanted nothing more at that moment to feel the rush of satisfaction at the stinging impact of his fist smashing into Wellington's face, but he remembered that when the headmaster had summoned him, he'd promised good news.

Stupid to trust an authority figure.

But even stupider to throw away an opportunity on a jackass like Wellington.

So Dan gritted his teeth and ate crow: "Sorry. I should have been more careful." The words were slightly muffled by his clenched jaw.

With a shove, Wellington released Dan and stalked away.

Dan grimaced and quashed the temptation to run after Wellington and send a fist crashing against his skull, instead merely continuing along his way. Still, he was angry at himself for not fighting back.

But that was what had brought him to this point, right?

Six months ago, Dan had a relatively happy and unchallenged existence, living in the rural area of eastern New York as the only child of K. Timothy Mangan and Rebecca Regan Mangan.

Or so he had thought.

His life had been utterly shattered when his mother was killed in a car crash, en route to the hospital where she worked as a doctor. And barely a week after her funeral, a stranger had arrived at their airy, comfortable family home and dealt the final blow- K. Timothy Mangan wasn't Dan's father.

This stranger, with his expensive suit, handmade leather wingtips, and debonair luxury car, was. And he had Dan's birth certificate to prove it.

The blonde, muscular Timothy Mangan seemed to have met this man before and while remaining unimpressed, allowed the stranger custody of Dan.

"It's nothing you've done, Danny," he assured him, pulling him into a bear hug. "But with Becca gone, you should be with your family."

"You_ are_ family," Dan protested vehemently.

"You should get to know your father."

"You are my father!" Dan's eyes flashed. "I don't care about D.N.A.! You're the person who raised me!"

But the stranger had taken Dan away and shuttled him off to some fancypants boys' prep school. Dan found the place to be gloriously pretentious, with its ridiculous uniforms, school song, and equestrian polo team that necessitated palace-like stables full of the finest horses money could buy.

Dan hadn't adjusted well to the boarding school. Two fights in as many months- he'd needed to blow steam and baiting those pampered rich boys, who were devoid any any actual concern relevant to their lives, had been amusing, mainly because they were so uptight and emotional, so easily angered. But then the stranger-turned-father had rerouted him to this youth correctional facility that was more like a teen-oriented health spa.

At the moment, entering the headmaster's office, Dan caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective window glass.

He had an almost vampiric appearance at the moment- the result of rarely sleeping thanks to brain overload and eating infrequent meals due to lack of enthusiasm for food. A lean frame with wiry muscles, kept in shape by midnight runs off of the campus. Pale skin with pale eyes and slightly overgrown, sleek black hair. He would've had a nice smile had he been wearing the expression.

Dan had his mother's smile.

Shock washed over him as a lump rose in his throat. Ever since his mother's funeral, a feeling of numbness enveloped him at the thought of her. Dan had felt to utterly detached from all of it to cry at the burial or afterward- everything had been unreal, as if he were watching a television screen about fictional people, and then his world had tilted and shifted about at his father's arrival. He never had the chance to finish- or even start- grieving properly.

The harsh noise of the buzzer sounding as the secretary permitted him access to the headmaster's office startled Dan out of his musings, and he proceeded through the hallway.

Awaiting him in the office were two vaguely familiar faces- Headmaster Professor Victor Conroy, and his uncle on his mother's side- the broad-shouldered, red-headed William Regan. He was handsome and young; with his fiery hair and green eyes, he shared family resemblance to Dan's mother.

"Hello, Daniel," Conroy greeted.

"Hello," Dan returned guardedly. "And hey, Uncle Bill."

Forest green eyes briefly flicked over him before Bill responded. "Hey yourself, Danny."

Dan sat in one of the chairs positioned before the carved desk. "What's this about?" He asked warily, deciding to cut to the chase.

Conroy cleared his throat before speaking in his dignified British accent. "I know that you must be curious, Daniel, so I'll try to make this short. Your uncle has obtained permission from your father to withdraw you from the Worthington Institute. Our administration concurs with your family that since your admittance to this academy, you have progressed into a responsible young adult. Your character has improved enormously during your time here. There has not been a single dispute between you and another student or teacher, and your grades are excellent."

"Seriously?" Dan glanced cautiously at Bill. "My father gave you custody?"

"He thought that perhaps the two of you needed some space, and maybe some time with the other side of your family," Bill explained.

An idea sparked in Dan's mind. "Will I get to see Timothy again?" The first name of his father- his stepfather, he supposed- felt foreign on his tongue.

"Of course. We'll arrange a visit soon." Bill stood. "Let's get your things together, Danny. If we make good time, we can get back before dark."

* * *

Only when he had just carried his suitcase out to the late-model pickup did Dan inquire about their destination. "Where are we going?"

"Here, let me get that." Bill easily hefted both the sturdy suitcase and the duffel bag into the covered truck bed.

They both climbed into the cab of the truck, and Bill started the engine and put it into drive before responding. "Your grandparents are planning to move to the South for the warmer weather, but they still own all of that property in the Westchester area."

Dan recalled his grandparents, Bill and Becca's parents, and their estate. "Yeah," he said. "All that land that they rent to tenant farmers. And they have horses, too, don't they?"

"And they own that Irish restaurant and bar," Bill replied. "Mom and Dad have done all right for themselves."

Dan nodded. When his mother was young, his grandparents nearly lost everything, including their lives, in a house fire due to a faulty electrical repair job. They had sued the electric repair business and and won thousands in damages, providing them with the finances to open the restaurant years later.

"Well, they want the property to stay in the family," Bill continued. "They've already paid off the mortgage on the house and the land. And they've asked me to take on the property because I recently passed the bar exam and received my license to practice law. I managed to get a position with a law firm a little beyond the town where they live. The place is called Sleepyside."

"Sleepyside," Dan repeated.

"Yeah," Bill grinned. "You know, it's too bad that Mom and Dad didn't move out of the city until I was in college. I would've loved to grow up in a town like that."

"Why would you want me there?" Dan queried bluntly. "You've never taken an interest in me before. Hell, you and my mother barely took the time to speak to each other."

Bill took a deep breath. "Becca's death brought me to reconsider some issues. And trust me, I don't appreciate your biological father showing up out of the blue and demanding custody of you from Timothy so soon after Becca's funeral."

"I didn't like that, either," Dan agreed in his low tone. "He insinuated that Timothy was an incompetent parent simply because he has to travel often for his job. Timothy is a sports talent scout for New York University."

"Timothy and Rebecca did good raising you," Regan said gently. "I imagine it must have been a shock to be told that Tim wasn't related to you."

"He ever treated me like anything other than his son," Dan said softly. "He even visited me at that Godforsaken youth improvement center."

A silence with no particular emotional attachment to it settled between them, broken by Bill.

"Would you like to stop for an early dinner? You look so pale."

Though Dan neither felt particularly hungry, nor did he see the connection between a person's skin tone and their appetite, he decided to indulge his uncle, if only to assuage his genuine concern. "Sure. Wherever you want to eat is fine with me."

Moments later, Bill pulled the pickup in the parking lot of a large, bright diner, and Dan found himself overwhelmed by nostalgia. Not only did he believe diners to be a congenial, welcoming icon of America, but memories surged into his mind of family road trips with his parents. No matter if they had visited a city, tourist town, or ghost town, they would unfailingly insist on eating at a diner or small restaurant.

"Have to keep small businesses going," his mother would say, with a flash of her brilliant smile.

"Can't let those soulless corporate chain take over," Timothy would agree, his wisteria eyes sparkling as he ruffled Dan's hair.

As Dan sat with his uncle in the bustling but amiable diner, he found his skepticism fading. He didn't know Bill very well, but he instinctively wanted to trust this man with his familiar green eyes and flame-colored hair. In an attempt to get to know his uncle better, he directed the conversation toward a topic Bill seemed to enjoy: horses.

"How many horses are there?" Dan asked, sipping his drink.

Bill grinned. "We just added a sixth last week. A smoky black Warmblood named Spartan. Young, headstrong, and ornery but not all that bad in the end. The rest of them are quarter horses, except our lone Freesia, Jupiter. He's pretty fast for such a big guy, too." Bill chuckled. "Do you know how to ride?"

"I've most ridden trail horses. Timothy once took us to the Finger Lakes on vacation, and Mom and I learned while there. Tim already knew, and he didn't laugh at us when we tried to learn. That much," Dan recalled with a smile.

Bill's face became serious. "Danny, how are you doing with Becca's death?"

The question took Dan by surprise, and instantly, he felt vulnerable, stripped of all of his defenses. His raw wounds were exposed, open and obvious: Bill had recognized them with barely any insight whatsoever.

"I'm getting through," Dan replied, startling himself with his own calm, level tone. "I'm not going to lie. It's hard. I miss her. And I hate that everything has changed. I realize it sounds callous, but I know that I have to keep on moving forward. There's nothing else I can do. I don't have any other way to cope." To his astonishment, he felt pain rise up inside of him; maybe he was no longer as frozen as he had once thought.

"You don't have to do this alone, Danny," Bill told him quietly. "I know that I was never a major factor in your life before, but I'd like to be here for you now."

"I'd like that, too." The words, open and honest, rushed out of Dan's mouth before he could filter them with sarcasm or silence, but he realized that he was unwilling to put up his guard. Here was a person admitting that he wanted Dan with him, that he wanted Dan to feel as though he belonged. Dan struggled to grasp words that would convey his gratefulness, that would tell his uncle all the emotions reawakening within him, but in the end, Dan settled for simplicity. "Thank you, Uncle Bill."

Bill sent him a smile, and Dan realized with a jolt that his uncle shared his mother's smile as well.

* * *

**A/N:** So. This story was in the works for about a year before I finished revising the story enough to post it. And it just so happens that I had all the B.W.G.''s stories finished, except for Diana's, whose story was about halfway done, and Dan's, which I hadn't even started. I wanted to finish the first seven chapters, so I just began writing with no outline whatsoever, and this was the result. Hooray for Danny, who got a happy ending because he overcame his fatal flaw! But who knows what's going to happen next?

As always, please let me know what you thought.


	8. Epilogue

**Hope**

Function: transitive verb

**1:** to desire with expectation of obtainment

**2:** to expect with confidence **:** trust

* * *

In an uncommon instance of daytime repose, Mart Belden was stretched out on his back, lying on top of the comforter on his dorm bed. He hadn't eaten yet that day, even as four o'clock approached, and now he was plagued by dizziness.

The door to the room swung open and Daniel burst in, his manner uncharacteristically animated.

"Hey," he greeted Mart. "Feeling all right?"

"Kinda tired," Mart admitted.

"Then it's a good idea to rest," Daniel advised, glancing around the room. "Is the laundry back?"

"There." Mart pointed to the red clothing sack.

"Thanks." Daniel promptly dumped the contents of the bag onto his bed, sorting out his articles (the black ones).

"You're in quite the chipper mood," Mart observed.

"I'm going home," Daniel explained with a smile. "They say I've recovered from my issues and all that."

"What?" Mart sat up dizziness accompanying him. "You're leaving?"

"I've been released," Daniel confirmed, pulling out a large suitcase from under his bed. He removed a twelve by twelve inch cardboard carton from the inside before cramming his clothes into the suitcase. After he had finished packing the first pile, he moved onto the closet, opening the door and withdrawing his civilian clothes.

"Your uniforms are still there," Mart pointed out, nodding at the tailored red blazers and gray dress pants.

"You keep them," Daniel said, collecting the items in his desk and pausing momentarily to flip through a photo album. "Or if you don't want them, give them back to the school. But I don't want any reminders of this place." He tossed a fifty-count set of colored pencils into his duffel bag; the suitcase had apparently reached its limit.

"Are your parents taking you home?" Mart asked, out of obligatory politeness rather than genuine curiosity.

Daniel shook his head, still smiling. It was a good expression for him, Mart realized. He looked so friendly and happy, so open to others. Normally he looked brooding, as if he were preparing to do something he was going to regret later.

"My uncle is taking me to live with him," Daniel said. "My father gave him custody." He surveyed the room. "Can you see anything I missed?"

"Nothing beyond the uniforms," Mart informed him. "And that." He indicated the cardboard carton on the bed.

"Oh." Dan crossed over to the bed and opened the carton before walking back over to Mart and revealing what the box contained: Ritz crackers, protein bars, Gatorade, various chocolate bars, Tastykake products, and homemade snickerdoodles.

"You take it," Daniel said suddenly, with a grin. "It was a care package to me from my father- my stepfather. He's a great guy. I never got around to eating any of it." He took a Sharpie from his pocket and scribbled several words onto the side of the carton. "Here's my e-mail address. Keep in touch."

Slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder and deftly lifting his suitcase, Daniel made his way to the door. "Best of luck to you, Mart. Send me an e-mail sometime." He closed the door behind him.

Mart stared at the closed door for a full ten seconds after Daniel had departed, a mixture of disbelief and detachment settling over him. His stomach growled, jolting him back to reality, and a sharp pang of hunger stabbed through him.

There was a box of food on his bed.

Cautiously, Mart eyed the care package, two trains of thought battling in his head.

_You need to eat something. You won't be able to last much longer like this. And without a roommate, who knows what's going to happen?_

_Don't eat anything. You're strong. You can pull through. Besides, that isn't food. It's empty calories._

_It's sustenance._

_Dehydrated fat._

_Energy._

Slowly, Mart reached into the carton and withdrew the bag of snickerdoodles. His hand shook as he raised the cookie to his mouth.

Daniel had managed to get out of here.

Mart took a bit of the sugary substance, his tastes buds exploding, unaccustomed to sweet flavors after rigidly disciplining himself for months.

Inwardly, his instincts screamed at him to throw down the sweet, to suppress his hunger.

But he did not. Instead, he continued to finish the sizeable cookie, and when it became stuck in his throat, washed it down with several sips of Gatorade.

His stomach rolled in protest, he felt nauseous, he was going to be sick-

No. No, Mart was done with being sick, he was done with starving himself, he was done with feeling too dizzy and weak to ever enjoy himself.

He picked up a protein bar this time, unwrapped the foil, and took a bite.

Dan had left the Worthington Institute with the full approval of the administration. He must've improved somehow, if the school board had allowed him to go.

They said that he had recovered.

Was Brian ever going to realize that life couldn't be a twenty-four hour party, free of any sort of consequence? Maybe.

Was Trixie going to decide one day to take her education seriously, start studying all night, and ace every test? Doubtful.

But could he, Mart Belden, begin to see beyond the here and now? Could he stop making himself ill by not eating? Could he allow himself to get better, to return to some semblance of normalcy?

Yes, Mart decided, swigging his Gatorade.

Yes, he could.

* * *

**A/N:** And that concludes "Capital Vices". Healing through snickerdoodles! Who would've thought?

Thank you for joining me on this journey, and a special thank you to all who reviewed. I really appreciate the feedback. :)

For now, I think that I'll return to the various Marvel fandoms and finally complete my unfinished stories there. But I expect to be back to the _Trixie Belden_ section fairly soon.

I'm willing to take requests for _Trixie Belden_ fics. Missing scenes from books, rewriting chapters from another character's perspective, family bonding scenes, friendship stories, even romance: slash or het. Just two guidelines:

For romance stories, no traditional pairings such as Jim/Trixie, Brian/Honey, or Mart/Diana. Those are just "too mainstream" for me.

No future fics. I abhor these future fics. Seriously, fifty percent of Trixie Belden fanfic is future fics about domestic life when I want to read a traditional mystery with the Bob-Whites. What is that?

Okay. Rant over. Thanks, it's been fun, and please leave some feedback.


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